LXVII. “Let me hear your lies.”

LXVII. “Let me hear your lies.”
Matteo’s breath hits my face, uneven, heavy, filling the brief silence that settles between us before his mouth returns to mine in a kiss that comes slow now, but still hungry, still marked by that jealousy, that possessiveness. Yet now… there’s a depth that hits deeper than any harshness.
The hand holding my face slides to my throat, his fingers closing there firmly but without force. It’s funny how, despite all the fury that runs deep under the skin, that barely restrained chaos, Matteo never truly seeks to hurt.
He holds me like a warning, like a threat, testing whether he can really end everything right here. Maybe that would be easier for him.
“You fucking destroyed me,” he whispers, too husky even for him. His forehead presses harder against mine, sweaty and trembling, as if saying it out loud were the same as taking a bullet to the chest. “And still, I come back.”
I close my eyes for a second, feeling the sting behind my lids.
“…Look how far I still go for you.”
Matteo slides his hand from my throat to the center of my chest, fingers splayed, warm and steady, trying to feel my heart beat for him, even after everything… trying to convince himself that it was truly his…
And when he feels it, his eyes sink into mine, completely disarming me.
He doesn’t wait for me to say anything, kissing me again to keep me quiet, to smother any sound, any protest, anything that could shatter the illusion that what we had was ever real.
Both of Matteo’s hands trace the curve of my waist again, pulling me a little closer to the couch’s edge as he slowly drops to his knees on the floor.
He hooks the waistband of my jeans, already undone and impossibly wet from my arousal. But he doesn’t tug with urgency, with that impatience and buried rage. He teases me. He plays with my anticipation, tasting the need, the longing he feels throbbing between my legs.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, like meant only for my skin, not my ears. There’s no softness in it, but there’s something wounded… something that makes it land heavier than an insult. “So fucking mine…”
Matteo’s fingers skim my hips, then settle into a firmer hold, anchoring me in place, as if he fears that if he lets go, he’ll be left choking on the same emptiness I carved into him.
Then, slowly, he pulls my jeans down my thighs, dragging my soaked panties with them.
With a mix of raw hunger and damned reverence, he watches as my pussy reveals itself under his steady hands. The clothes slide down my thighs, past my knees, to my ankles, until he strips them off completely, tossing them aside.
He runs his tongue over his lips, tasting his own need, while his hands grip my thighs and spread them wide for his starving eyes. He looks up again, allowing me to see his dilated pupils—before finally leaning in.
But for a torturous long second, he does nothing… just breathes, inhaling my scent deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of my pleasure and need. The hot air hits my throbbing entrance, and that alone sends a shiver down my spine, making me wetter.
When the first lick hits, without me expecting it, I arch my back, unable to hold back the strangled moan that comes out louder than it should. He uses the flat of his tongue to taste me from bottom to top, making my inner walls clench and pulse with need.
But he doesn’t focus on that yet… he flicks his tongue over my clit in a circular motion that’s almost enough to bring me to the edge.
My hips instinctively rub against his mouth, seeking more friction, more pleasure, but Matteo holds me tighter, his hands digging into the flesh of my thighs, keeping me open for him, still, and completely exposed to his mercy.
“Stop fucking moving,” he groans against my skin, and the sound vibrates straight into my clit, making my eyes roll and my head fall back against the couch. “Who said you could take control, huh?”
Matteo sucks hard on my clit, with no gentleness at all, making my body jerk and a cry escape my lips. He breathes in deeply again, lapping faster, ruthlessly, alternating between flicks and long licks that make my eyes roll.
I can feel his tongue sliding between my swollen lips, then dipping down, circling my entrance with the tip, threatening to go in and fuck me with it—but he doesn’t… he climbs back up again, finding a sensitive spot on my clit that always makes my legs tremble.
My moans grow louder, rougher, muffled by my biting my lip, by the urgency of not falling apart so easily on his mouth. But it’s useless… he knows me. He knows exactly where to lick, where to press, when to suck, and when to bite my inner thigh, giving me a break just for a cold hair to hit before his hot tongue gives me pleasure again.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs against my skin, his eyes lifting, the corner of his mouth slick with my taste, wearing a dirty, possessive pride that makes me need him even more. “You like feeling you’re mine again, don’t you, slut?”
Again, he doesn’t wait for an answer. Matteo drives his tongue into me this time, and I nearly choke on a gasp, feeling my body almost combust with the pleasure he draws from me with every wet thrust.
He leaves my thigh to find my chest through my shirt. His thumb brushes my hard, sensitive nipple over the fabric, and the double sensations make me cry out—a sharp, desperate sound that echoes through the room.
I don’t care about Luigi, the building, or anything. All I can think, or feel, is the heat of his mouth and how my body is already begging for relief.
Then, just to punish me for my pride and push me even closer to the edge, Matteo pinches my nipple, twisting just enough to send a sharp, quick, and somewhat pleasurable pang of pain through me. Soon, he’s rubbing it again, playing with the small peak, making it harder under his touch.
“Hmm? What is it?” he taunts between licks. “Are you imagining it’s that fucking Bianchi eating you up, too?”
I want to say something sharp and smart back, to be a brat about it, but my mouth opens, and nothing clean comes out… just breath, moan, and the start of a laugh that dies as soon as I see his expression shift and that dark flicker come back in his eyes.
“Say it,” he murmurs, low and cruel, tilting his head just enough, as the tip of his fingers finally reaches my entrance. “Let me hear your lies.”
My inner walls pulse around nothing because he’s so close yet so far from giving me what I truly want. He circles my entrance, threatening to put the tip of his finger inside, but it’s just a tease—which makes me almost lose my mind, because he's not taking it easy.
My whole body arches in, shaking, sweating, but the orgasm, treacherous, won’t hit.
Every time I’m a single flick of his tongue away, Matteo changes the rhythm, making my toes curl in sweet agony.